Influencer Dey Push Moto?

Yes, that’s the title of this newsletter.

I know I have been MIA. I’m sorry. Too many people have been asking me why I have not written. It’s because Nigeria has been stressing my life. And Nigerians are not good people. You people deserve Portable.

Nigerians will stress you, you will want to carry gun.

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My last newsletter was sent out on May 10th. 17 whole days ago and it seems like only a week has passed since I last wrote to you.

A lot has been happening. Multiple deadlines are looming over my head, I said fuck that, I went to Abuja, did a hangout, got bastardly broke, entered into a situation-ship, they chase me out of it, my security guard toasted me, I said no, so he started stressing delivery men that come for me.

But most importantly, I pushed bus on the express.

I wan crase

Before I explain how I got to pushing the bus, here is a little bit you need to know about me.

I am nowhere near wealthy. I am just trying to get by. I grew up in a middle-class home that dropped to lower class by the time I got out of university, I am not a famous person, I grew up in Mushin, Surulere and Ikorodu, I have never tasted bastard wealth before and so, naturally, I am the kind of person who wouldn’t think twice about pushing a bus on the express.

Except that there has been a little switch in my life recently.

I became an influencer that some people know.

But that one is not my uncle’s business. Because as far as he was concerned, our bus stopped on Lagos-Ibadan expressway and everybody had to come down and push.

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Why did we have to push the bus?

We were on our way to my cousin’s introduction in Ibadan and as you may or may not know, Yoruba people can’t hear that there’s a party happening and not call the entire world. So a small introduction that should have been a party of 6 from our side turned into 25 people crammed inside a danfo, going to Ibadan.

So there I was with full make up, gele, and a corset gown, sweating in a bus filled with old people who wouldn’t stop talking about this rude generation and directing questions like “when will we, too, come and do your own?” at me.

I don’t know Aunty Moria. Maybe when your son stops impregnating all the girls on our street?

Obviously, I knew better than to say that but when the bus started coughing, sputtering and eventually grinded to a halt, I was so glad to jump off. They wan kill me. Awon werey.

We started looking for mechanics in the area and when we didn’t find any, my aunts started trying to flag cars down to help us.

Nobody stopped for them because duh, did they send us to pack ourselves inside danfo for party? At least, even if you want to go for party, why did you overload the bus? And the bus is not even working properly so Uncle Muti probably embezzled the money that we were supposed to use to rent good bus.

While my aunties were jumping up and down, waving at cars that did not answer them, I sat on one stone and pressed my phone.

I don’t even know who sent me to go for introduction of people that are cheating on themselves. And what will pain me is if, after all this suffer, they come and say they want to divorce 1 year in. I will do juju and somebody will crase.

I was deep in my thoughts when my uncle brought his big stomach to my front.

“We want to push bus. Stand up”

“I don’t have power o, Uncle Muti”

“You will push what you can push. Oya up.”

I really didn’t want to push that bus. How will I be pushing bus on Lagos Ibadan? Am I not somebody’s babe? Even if it is Kabiru, is he not a man?

“Uncle Muti, I’m wearing corset gown”

“And then? Did I chose style for you?”

“Uncle Mu…”

“Hauwa, stand up there because if it is that you’ve marry now, will we not be in your husband’s car?”, Aunty Moria voice barged into our conversation.

I swear to God, I already have Aunty Moria’s assassination planned out. All I just have to do to green-light it is make a call and right now I wa…

“Oya stand up, stop wasting my time”, Uncle Muti spat impatiently.

That’s how I went to push bus until someone zoomed past us and shouted, “Hauwa! Influencer dey push moto?”

If you know you were on Lagos-Ibadan expressway around 12pm on Tuesday and you shouted that thing at me, there is no way God will not punish you.

Not only did I push the bus but when it started working, my uncle jumped inside and started driving (because if he stopped, the engine will off) and I had to jump into a moving bus with my gele. Like a bridal conductor. 😭😭😭

Aunty Moria too had to jump. She wan die. She just dey shout, “Hauwa hold me!”

Hold you kor.

After all that, shouldn’t common sense have told us to turn back to Lagos?

No, not Yoruba people. Never.

We went to the introduction, got there late, food had finished, had to go hunting for amala, started on the way back to Lagos.

Guess whose bus broke down again?

And because all of us wore shine-shine asoebi, it was easy for cars passing to spot us being an absolute mess and having a full blown panic attack around our broken down bus. Like confused deranged ants around sugar.

But it was dark.

So nobody saw influencer begging cars to stop and carry her.

The only good thing about the entire journey is Aunty Moria collapsed, started shouting on the floor and I took a picture of her.

I will put it on GoFundMe and say my aunty is dying of elephantiasis.

I will see small money. Even if it is 45 dollars.

That’s 33k.

Money for shoe and bag. Sense no go kill me.